URSULA REMEMBERS

by

Ursula Holloway

Columbus, Ohio

April 2015

Through the years, some of you have asked how our family immigrated to the United States from Germany before World War II.  So I am writing some memories of things you might want to know.  Also I have included information about my family background as well as our start in this country.

In 1933,  when I was five years old, the lives of my family changed forever.  My paternal grandparents turned on the gas in their apartment, wrote warning signs all around and committed suicide.  They chose not to live under Adolph Hitler who had just come into power.  At that time my parents were still optimistic, saying that the German people would not be willing to have a mad man like Hitler stay in control.  After all Germany was a cultured country with famous writers and composers, and with people who enjoyed theater, opera and concerts.  But conditions only got much worse.  

My father had graduated from the Heidelberg University and was an attorney in his fathers  law practice.  Before going to college he was a soldier in World War I, volunteering as soon as he turned 18 in 1914.  While a soldier his father would send him food, warm clothing, shoes and other items, since the army did not supply enough of anything. While fighting on the French front he was wounded  in both arms.  Later he received the equivalent of a purple heart.  Also, the loud explosions caused him a limited hearing loss.  He could not hear certain sounds, such as ringing of the doorbell.  As the war progressed he was taken prisoner by the French, and taken to an island off the coast of France.  Even though the war was over and lost, in 1918 he was not released until 1920, after the Treaty of Versailles was signed .  When he returned home to Mannheim, he was  heralded by the Germans and was told they would be forever grateful for his sacrifices. 

My mother was born in Berlin.  She attended several universities, which was the custom among German students.  In those days few women went to college.  She met my father, first at the university of Berlin, and then again at the university of Freiburg . From there they both went on to study in Heidelberg. They were inseparable from then on.  She married my father in 1924.  They were still living in Heidelberg when my brother was born June 25, 1925.  On that same day my father received his Doctor of Law degree.  My brother was named Heinz Wolfgang.  We called him Wolfgang.  After arriving in the US, he changed his name to Harry, this is the English translation for Heinz.  

Two and one-half  years later my twin sister and I were born in Mannheim on January 4, 1928.   My parents made their home there, it was the birth place of my father.    My sister Liselotte, later Lisa, was born 10 minutes before me.  I was named Ursula .  Actually, our family and friends called us, Ursel and Lisel, our twin names.  My mother always dressed us alike.  In those days, one could not go to a store and find two dresses the same, so we had a seamstress come to the house.  

I would like to tell you a little about what life was like for our family in the late 1920's and early 1930's before Hitler.  In those days a lot of conveniences we take for granted now were not available.  Also there was no such thing as antibiotics, so my mother was extra careful to keep us well.  To help her, we had a nanny.  We slept and ate in our nursery and the few visitors who came, had to wear a white gown over their clothes.  We were taken out in our double baby carriage nearly every day, sometimes with hot water bottles to keep us warm.  It was believed that fresh air was most important for the health of a child.  We also had a full time maid.  The nanny stayed with us.  Our maid had a room on the top floor of our apartment building. For the heavy laundry a washer woman would come and pick up the cloths.  Even with the help my mother had plenty to do.  My father would come home mid-day.  Dinner would be served at that time.  He would take a rest and than go back to his office.  Until we got older we always ate separately from our parents.  Later we ate in the dining room with them.  Sometimes we misbehaved and were sent to the kitchen to eat.  Actually we rather liked that.

In 1989, eight years before my mothers death, I recorded  her stories about some of her experiences.  Here is what she told me.  Since my father was a World War I veteran, he was allowed to continue his law practice after 1933, the year Hitler rose to power.  Other attorneys and doctors were no longer allowed to do so.  This was one of the many restrictions Hitler placed on Jews.  It turned out that many of the people who lost their careers got out of Germany sooner than we did and had a chance to go to Italy or Palestine.  ( Israel was still Palestine in those years.)  Those two countries accepted the German mark.  A few people were lucky enough to have family in the United States or Canada and got permission to immigrate there.  

By the time my family was desperate to leave Germany, the English had closed the boarders of Palestine and no other country would take refugees, especially not Jews.  Let's face it, there was and still is, a lot of anti-semitism everywhere including in the USA.  We had no place to go.   But more of that later.  

I asked my mother about my brother Harry.  My parents sent him to a private school in Italy after some kids beat him up while he was in third grade.  This school was located in a beautiful town on the Italian Riviera.  We visited him there several times.

  My sister and I went to a Jewish school since  by the time we were old enough, Jews were no longer allowed to attend public school.  At that time we were told that we were Jewish, something we were not aware of.  We never attended synagogue and  our family celebrated Christmas.   Back then everyone used lighted candles on their tree.  One time, my brother knocked it over and our curtains caught on fire.  It did not result in big damages.   So then in 1933 my family started lighting Hanukah candles and  we no longer celebrated Christmas. That was our only Jewish celebration.  

My mother said that conditions got worse and worse. More restrictions all the time.  In 1935, our maid who had been with us for many years and loved our family had to leave.  No Gentile was allowed to work for a Jewish family.  We sometimes got to visit her on the family farm.  That was a  treat for us.  They had a typical little farm house with an attached barn.  Our favorite food was chicken.  They were going to serve us our treat.  We were there when they cut off its head.  I remember vividly seeing this headless chicken flopping its wings.  That day, I could not eat my favorite dish. 

My parents knew they had to get out of Germany.  Restrictions were everywhere.  The park benches and many other places had signs no Jews allowed.  The swimming pool, which had been donated by a Jewish family was forbidden to us. 

Another big event was “Kristall nacht” .  It changed our lives again.  It started on Nov. 9, 1938, I was ten years old, when early in the morning the Gestapo (German secret police) arrived at our apartment and arrested my father.  That day the Nazis burned synagogues and Jewish businesses.  In the afternoon, I remember sitting on our sofa, my mother between my sister and I, feeling scared.  We could see and hear the Nazis marching down our street. Loud noises came from below, as the Gestapo entered the Jewish homes they threw furniture, china and anything they could get their hands on out of the windows unto the street.  Waiting for them to come to our apartment was so scary.  To our surprise, when someone finally came to us he looked around and told my mother that he would not destroy our belongings, but that he would come back and take our crystal and I don't know what else on later days.  He did come several more times taking whatever he wanted.  But my mother didn't care, that was the least of her problems.  It was a terrible time for her.  She did not know what was happening to my father or where he might be.  She did know that it was very important to get my sister and I out of Germany. She got in touch with a Dutch friend whom we knew from vacations in Holland.  Dien Stern (a non-Jew who was married to one) came soon and a few days later we were on the train to Holland.  My mother said that that was the worst day of her life.  She did not know where my father was and she did not know if she would ever see her twins again.  A few weeks later she got word that my father was in Dachau, a concentration camp.  At the same time, a neighbor received a small box.  She had to pay postage, and found her husband's ashes. 

When my sister and I arrived in Holland, we had to wait at the boarder for what seemed like a long time.  At first we did not get permission to enter the country, but Dien was able to persuade the officials to let us in.  A few days later, she found us a home with a very nice childless non Jewish couple.  The husband owned a cheese factory and we loved going with him to test the cheeses to see if they were ready for sale.  They also had a dog, an Irish setter which  we loved.  This couple spoke no German, so we learned to speak Dutch very quickly.  One month later we were conversant.  Since Holland is much colder than Mannheim one of the relatives knitted pink, wool underwear for us. They also taught us how to ice skate.  Their house was on the old Rhine river.  Their maid would put skates on our shoes and bring out a chair unto the ice which we could push along.  We skated on long wooden skates which were used in Holland.  But this happy placement was not to last.  The lady of the house became very sick, so they felt that they could no longer take care of us.  Months later after the lady died the husband came to visit us.  

 Dien was called again to find us another home.  This time we went to live with a large Jewish family. They had five children, the youngest was our age.  During World War II, the oldest of the children worked underground hiding Jews, especially the children. The husband was a diamond broker, who often went to Belgium.  When he came home, he would bring presents for his family.  I never told any one that it bothered me not to be included.  The family lived in a lovely thatch roofed house on a farm.    They let us have our own little garden and we could feed one of the lambs.  We were sent to a  private school.  This school was  called “De Werkplaats”.   It was very different.  We did not go to classes, instead we studied in different rooms, depending on the subject we were working on.  Everyone had to take their turn to clean the school building.  It was an interesting place.  One of the things we did was to get up early in the morning and watch the sun rise. Since I lived a long way from the school, on those occasions I would stay at the house of the headmaster.   The whole school would take walks and bicycle trips together.  The teachers were called by their first name.  After the war, the Dutch princesses went to this school.  They too took turns cleaning.  The oldest princess became the queen of the Netherlands, Queen Wilhelmina.  The school  was an hour bicycle ride from our house.  Mostly we did fine.  Although when we tired the older kids would push us along or have us sit on their bike, while another rider would take our bike.  

We were fortunate to again be with a very good family.  One problem was that I missed my mother very much.  In my fantasy,  whenever something did not quite go my way, I would think that this would never happen if my mother were with me. 

 I want to tell you what happened to my brother.  In 1938 the Italian fascists kicked him out of the boarding school and at the age of thirteen, he made his way back home to Mannheim, but not without some major problems. On his way, he had a stop in Munich.  My mother had made reservations for him at a hotel.  When he got there, he was told that he could not stay, Jews were not allowed.  So he had to find a place for the night.  Fortunately he was mature for his age and an experienced traveler. He did manage to find a place, and continued on his way home.  A few weeks later he arrived in Holland as part of  a “Children Transport”.  I don't know who arranged this, but many Jewish German  children were sent to Holland or England.  Harry was sent to a refugee camp where he stayed for nearly two years until we boarded a ship to the United States. 

While still in Germany my parents had crated furniture for a five room house and sent it to Holland. When we finally got to the United States, many of our belongings had been sold to pay for the shipping. The shipping company did not honor the payment that had been made.  Quite a few things did survive.  The furniture is now gone, but I still have paintings, some china, pewter dishes, silverware, photograph albums and a few other items. 

Two months after my father was taken prisoner, he was released from the concentration camp with the stipulation that he would leave the country.  In those days Hitler wanted to get rid of Jews, not necessarily kill them, that came later.  My father had gotten an invitation from the Bishop of Lichfield, to be his honored guest.  This was done by my parents contacting friends who contacted other friends.  Finally someone knew the bishop.  In June of 1939 my father left Germany forever.  On his way to England he visited us in Holland.  After spending a week with the bishop and his family,  he went to live with Quakers.  He had to depend on the kindness of these people, since permission to work was not given to non-British citizens.  Both of my parents continued to look for a country that would take us.  While I was living in Holland, word came that we would be leaving for Palestine.  Again the efforts were nixed, England suddenly closed the border and we could not emigrate there.  My parents had to start over again.  Finally a distant relative living in the United States was found, and was willing to give us the much needed affidavit .  That was the necessary document.  It had to guarantee that our family would not become a financial burden on the government.  

On April 13, 1940, my brother, sister and I were on our way to Antwerp, Belgium to catch a ship to England and than on to America. Originally we were supposed to leave from Holland, but the ports were already closed.  This was six weeks before Germany invaded Holland.  Even though a woman was assigned to take us to the ship, she did not seem to know much and my 14 ½ year old brother took charge.  He took us to our cabin and told us what to do. We had many safety drills.  Our boat could not navigate until all passengers were on deck wearing life jackets.  The ship would move a few hours each day while it was surrounded by mine sweepers, because the channel was heavily mind.  To pass the time my brother taught us how to play ping-pong.  Three days later we landed in Southampton, England.  At that port our father came on board.  Lisa and I just spoke dutch and at first it was hard for us to communicate with our father.  But it did not take long for us to speak German again. The rest of the sailing was easy.  I did not get seasick even though by today's standards the ship was small and did not have stabilizers.  On arriving in New York, we were greeted by our uncle, my fathers brother.  Soon we moved into his apartment with his wife and my cousin Hanna.  There we lived and waited for our mother to join us, but it took well over a year before my family would be together again. 

 In the meantime, my mother was still in Germany and could not leave.  She went to the American counsel, but they refused to accept the affidavit that should have allowed her to join us. Unfortunately the American counsel was in bed with the Nazis and they would not help her.  She could do nothing but wait.  In October 1940, early in the morning, all Jews, in the Mannheim area were arrested and told to be ready in an hour.  They could pack only one small suitcase.  Then they were marched to one of the public schools and kept there for two days. They were not given anything to eat and slept on the floor.  Everyone had to sign a document stating that they would turn over everything to the government except for 100 marks.  This was very little money. Two days later they again were forced to walk, this time they went to the train station.  They were loaded into regular passenger cars and my mother was able to find her parents.  When the train took a turn to the West everyone felt better.  They knew that going East meant certain death. They ended up in France, at a camp high in the Pyrenees.  It was a concentration camp called camp De Gurs.  The men and women were separated and taken to barracks.  These shelters were totally bare. After several days the inmates were given straw and a cover.  They still had no place to sit.  Eventually a local man came and sold wooden stools. (I still have it.)  In the meantime, my grandfather who had prostate problems, could not live without the medication and instruments that my grandmother carried.  Unfortunately he died a painful death soon after arriving at the prison.  Even though the physical conditions in the camp were bad, the inmates were glad to be out of Germany.  My mother was fortunate that she was healthy and spoke French fluently.  So she and one other woman were selected to go to neighboring farmers, with money given by the Red Cross, to buy milk for the children.  That meant carrying heavy cans of milk.  Sometimes, even though the farmers were poor, they would give my mother a piece of bread covered with lard.  She would take it back to the barracks and share it with her mother.  The prisoners were provided with some food but they were always hungry.  

On March 5, 1941, a representative from the French embassy came to the concentration camp and interviewed my mother.   It was determined that the affidavit, which the Americans in Germany refused to accept, was good and she was given permission to go to America.  She hated to leave her mother but she knew that she was needed by her family.  By then we had already been waiting since April, 25, 1940, that was the day we arrived in New York.  My mother was allowed to go to Marseilles and there she waited for arrangements to be made for her passage to the United States. Finally she got on a freighter that was going to Haiti.  The conditions were terrible but knowing she was leaving Europe to join her family made everything tolerable.  The ship stopped in Casablanca.  A Catholic priest had the permission to leave and was able to get a telegram to my father telling him that my mother was on her way.  A strange thing happened.   On the next part of her journey the ship was captured by the Dutch, who thought that the passengers were Nazis.  The English had to intervene and took the passengers to Trinidad.  There they got soap, water, food and a bed to sleep on. That was a real treat.  Through the Red Cross, my father was informed of my mother's location and got her a ticket to come to New York.  She arrived on the 13th of June 1941. I was thirteen and surprised to see her looking somewhat different from what I had remembered and imagined.  She was sunburned from spending much time on deck and still thin.  It took some time for me to get used to her again.  Having become a teenager did not help either.  When my sister and I would be out walking with our parents,  we would always try to keep some distance between them and us.  We thought that they looked much too much like newcomers.  We did our best to look American, of course we didn't,  we still had our clothes from Germany. 

That summer as well as the previous summer, my sister and I were sent to live with  American families.  That allowed us to get out of the New York heat, since there was no air conditioning.  It also helped us to learn English very quickly as there was no ESL in the schools.  Both of the families we stayed with were very good to us and we kept in touch with them for several years, but I did not like living with strangers again.  Being with your own family is just a lot more comfortable, you didn't always have to be on your best behavior. 

In the fall of 1941 we were relocated, by the Jewish refugee committee to Columbus, Ohio.  My father had not been able to get a job in New York. He could not practice law in the United States without going back to law school.  Of course that was impossible.  Another problem was that it had been the worst depression this country ever had.  He sometimes sold some of our jewelry to get a little money.  Before we left New York, my brother graduated with honors from high school at the age of 16.  So it was important for my family to go to a city were  jobs were available and had a university for my brother to attend.  

We arrived without any money and had to rely on help from others, but not for long.  My father got a job sorting shoes for 50 cents an hour and my mother worked five hours per day for $1.00, giving massages to women.  While still in Germany she had learned how to do this, knowing she would have to work once we immigrated.  My brother also worked.  Eventually my father got a job as a bookkeeper and my mother gave talks for the Ohio State University extension service.  One of her topics was: “From Concentration Camp to Freedom”.  She was actually a very good speaker and enjoyed standing in front of  groups.  She never used notes. After that she got a job at the OSU library from were she retired.  My parents were and had to be very thrifty.  We never went out to a restaurant and of course they did not buy a car or any luxuries.  We lived in a rather poor section of town and to get anywhere we had to walk long distances (we all were used to walking).  Whenever necessary we rode the street car, but that cost money.  In 1948, seven years after arriving in Columbus, my parents bought their first house.

Not long after we arrived in Columbus, a couple by the name of Ardis and Rod Wheeler befriended our family.  They helped us in many ways.  They  belonged to a Presbyterian church and suggested that Lisa and I may want to join the young peoples group.  This we did.  We had a great desire to be part of mainstream America and one way was to belong to a church.  In those days it was quite common for people to ask “what church do you go to”?  Now we had an answer.  Before long the minister of that church baptist us and we could then say that we were  Presbyterians.  This did not make me religious but it allowed me to totally deny my background.  I did not want anyone to know that I was Jewish or that I was a refugee.  I was in total denial and did not acknowledge my background until I was  much older.

In 1945, Lisa and I graduated from high-school.   For the graduation ceremony we needed to wear a white dress.  Again Ardis helped us.  We bought a pattern, white material and with her help made the required dress.  By that time, I had  money of my own, since I worked after school and in the summers.  In fact I had saved money to pay for my college education and enrolled at Ohio State University that fall.  But there was no money for extras.  Both my sister and I packed our lunches and did not eat any meals out.  We also worked part time.   Both of us graduated in three years.  Eventually I got my master's degree in guidance and counseling and Lisa received her master degree in social work.

My brother Harry enrolled at Ohio State University, while I was still in high-school.  He was drafted into the United States Army in 1943.  He became an officer in the intelligence unit.  By the time he finished his training, the war in Europe was over.  He was sent to Germany and participated in interrogating German prisoners.  He also served as an interpreter during the Neurnberg trials.  While he was stationed overseas he met and married a German girl, called Hanni.  After returning to the US, he got his degree in welding engineering.  He retired from Exxon, having become their chief welding engineer.  He traveled all over the world trouble shooting and solving problems.  For his work he received several honors.  Harry died February 5, 2013.

After the war, the German government asked my father to return and become a judge.  (In Germany judges are appointed).  My father chose to stay in the United States, preferring a job that paid very little, rather than return to a country that had treated us so badly.

You may wonder what happened to my grandmother.  After my mother left Camp De Gurs she remained.  I don't know when, but she was released and lived in  Marseilles until France was liberated by the Americans.  She then went to live with her cousin who owned an apartment in Paris and a Chateau nearby.  My grandmother stayed in the mansion.  (It  had been used by the German army as a recreation center.) In 1947 she was able to come to the United States, and lived with us until 1955 when she went to live with her other daughter in East Germany.

  My family history is more than the events during Hitler and our struggle to make a life for ourselves in America.  So if you are still interested in reading more, I will tell you.  My mother's name was Charlotte Silberstein.  She was born Aug. 29, 1900 in Berlin,  Germany.  She had one sister who was nearly three years younger.  Her childhood was that of privilege. A wet nurse was hired to breast feed her.  This woman stayed with the family for six years.  My mother loved her very much.  After she left, my grandparents hired a “mademoiselle” to teach my mother french.  In 1903 the family moved to an apartment with central heating and hot water.  This was very unusual in those days and could only be had in some apartments and only in Berlin.   During World War I, there was very little to eat, so the family mostly lived on turnips.  My mother was a survivor.  For her, obstacles are there to be overcome.  She lived by that conviction.

My father's name was Heinrich Ebertsheim, he was born on June 15, 1896, to an affluent family.  He too had one younger sibling, a brother.  He was raised in Mannheim, a city along the Rhine river.  His father was a  very successful, highly regarded attorney.  My father joined his practice after becoming an attorney.  In 1954, he died in Columbus, much too young.  His great uncle, a doctor, lived in Bingen, Germany, a lovely town, in a wine growing area along the Rhine river.  He  was given the title of honorary citizen, and  a street was named after him.  During the Hitler era, his name was taken down, but later it was put back up. It reads “Dr. Ebertsheim Strasse”.

You might be amused by my names.  I always kept  my first name Ursula. But my surname changed several times.  I was born with the last name of Ebertsheim.  When we came to the United States my father changed our name to Ebert.  Then, with marriages my name changed to Shipp, Kouyoumjian, and finally to Holloway.  I became a United States citizen with my first marriage, when I was 20 years old.  

  Besides raising my children, I first worked as a kindergarten teacher and than    became a school counselor for 20 years.  But my most challenging and rewarding job was raising my three children.  I feel very fortunate and proud that they all turned out to be wonderful human beings.  All three received a good education, became successful in their careers, are married, and have children of their own.  Now I have not only eight grandchildren but also ten great-grandchildren and I am certain that there will be more.  I feel very fortunate to have such a wonderful family.  So many people to love.  Having such a large extended family is, I feel a revenge to Hitler who tried to wipe us out.  I  say to him, “ha-ha” you didn't succeed we survived. 

For the most part I have had a good life.  As a teenager I spent several summers in children camps as a swimming instructor and lifeguard.  As an adult, I was very active, enjoying, most of all traveling and seeing my family.  Also I participated in many sports, such as skiing, tennis, sailboarding, snorkeling and of course swimming, hiking and bicycling.     I don't do those anymore, but I stay active working out in the gym, playing bridge, getting together with friends, spending time with my husband and of course, visiting with my family.  I also still travel some and have added working as a volunteer for  the public library and for hospice to my activities.  

Before I end this story, and I hope you will forgive me, for doing a little bit of preaching.  One of my reasons for writing this story is so that I can say something about the Holocaust.  First of all any suffering that my family and I endured was  minor compared with what happened to so many people. As you may know, nearly six million people, mostly Jews were killed.  Six Million, it is hard to grasp the extent of this number, not thousands, not hundred of thousands, not a million, but six million people were murdered due to prejudice, intolerance and hate. Never before or after have so many people just been wiped away.  This must never be forgotten by you nor by the world. 

I am about finished writing this story.  It is April 2015, and I am 87 years old.   I view my life  like a stone thrown into a pond, leaving waves.  First they are large but become smaller and smaller as time passes.  I hope that these waves have someway touched you.  Maybe even future generations will feel the affect of the diminishing waves.